Isolamento
by PapayaK
Summary: Finch and John have disappeared. Where are they? Are they in danger? Are they alive? Will Carter and Fusco be able to find out what happened? Will they be able to save themselves? Is that too many questions? Set in season 2 - Carter's part of the team and Elias is still a threat. A hint of Careese if you squint. John whump - some Finch whump - Bear and Joan also make appearances.
1. Chapter 1

ISOLAMENTO  
by PapayaK

oO0Oo

Joss Carter forced her eyelids open. Her head was pounding and her vision was swimming. She blinked a few times and strained to bring her surroundings into focus. When the lumpy shapes around her finally began to make themselves recognizable, she realized two things, neither of which were particularly encouraging: She was lying in a hospital bed and her partner was watching her. He looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"What happened?" She asked him, frowning.

"I was hoping you could tell me that." Fusco answered. "You don't remember anything?"

She frowned harder and pushed herself up into a semi-seated position. Reaching up, her hand found the exceptionally tender lump on the back of her head and she winced. "Somebody mistake my head for a nail?"

"Don't know." Fusco explained, cringing in what Carter suspected was supposed to be sympathy. "There was a 911 call last night about a street fight - supposed to be like six guys havin' it out, but when patrol got there, all they found was you, unconscious on the ground. No sign of anything else. You take out six guys, Carter? You got some skills I don't know about?"

She smiled a little, acknowledging the attempt at humor, then raised her eyebrows and looked at him, "Who called 911?"

"Pay phone. No way to know."

Carter frowned, trying to fight through the clouds in her mind.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Fusco encouraged.

She rolled her head on her shoulders, trying to relieve some of the ache and thought back to last night. "Had dinner with Taylor and then Finch called. Said they had a new person for me to look into and he had some information he wanted to give me." She nodded slowly to herself as the memories began to sort themselves out. "I met them at a diner in a pretty depressed part of town. They handed over the file, we talked for a minute, and then we all left. They said they had something else to do in the neighborhood, but they didn't say what. They went left and I went right - back toward my car - and…" She looked back at her partner. "That's it."

"So whatever happened, Glasses and Wonderboy had something to do with it."

Carter nodded. "Probably."

"Figures."

"You hear from either of them?" She asked, a little bit of concern mixing in with her confusion.

Fusco scowled. "Not a word. And not for lack of trying either." He shook his head. "Not like them to go dark when _you_ end up in the hospital."

A knot of something that wasn't quite worry settled in her gut. She slid her legs off the side of the bed and sat up.

"Carter -" Fusco protested. "Doc says you gotta stay the day for observation."

She shook her head. "I gotta check on Taylor… Figure out what happened…"

"Your kid's fine. I called and he's over at your mom's."

At her look, he defended himself. "I told you I got your back, Carter."

She smiled a little at that. Sometimes she forgot that he was actually a pretty good guy. "I still gotta figure out what happened to me… _and_ to our mutual friends." She looked around the room. "Where are my clothes?"

"Yeah - I figured you might feel that way." He held out her keys. "I had a uniform drive your car over. It's in the lot. Your clothes are over there." He gestured to a cabinet. "I'll wait outside."

But Carter shook her head. "Fusco, you don't have to hang around. I'm fine-"

"You have a concussion."

Then she did smile. "I'm _fine_. A little headache isn't going to slow me down. I've had worse. And, if I remember right, you have a triple homicide."

"Carter- That's an open-and-shut drug deal gone bad. It practically solves itself."

"I'm serious, Fusco. I've got an excuse to take a day off. You don't. How you gonna explain ignoring the three dead bodies you got waiting for you?"

"I don't know…"

"I promise I'll call you if anything happens, okay?" While she appreciated the concern, at this point, she really did just want to be on her own. She was more worried than she cared to admit.

"Okay." Fusco finally agreed. "You call me if you need anything." He admonished her.

She smiled and shooed him out of the room so she could get dressed.

oO0Oo

Harold Finch woke up suddenly, sat up suddenly, and just as quickly lay back down.

Moving suddenly was never, ever a good idea for him, and he could not, for the life of him, understand why he had done so.

He breathed carefully through the shooting pain in his back, neck, and arm… wait.

Arm?

His eyes popped open and he forced the presence of mind to survey what he could of his surroundings from his prone position. His head throbbed in sync with his racing heartbeat.

The distant ceiling he found himself looking at did not hold any clues as to where he was or how he had ended up there. He turned his attention to the rest of the room he could see and found it to be dark, musty, and uncomfortably warm. The air was stale. It felt thick with the penetrating smell of used motor oil and rust, like an old garage. It was the height of summer in New York but that normally meant an unpleasant level of humidity. The atmosphere he found himself in was hot, but surprisingly dry.

It was difficult to see much in the dim light. The only source of illumination was a slight glow from somewhere to his left. Its precise source was blocked by a stack of large crates.

He could determine nothing else from his current position. Moving with practiced care, he raised himself until he was semi-upright.

Now he could make out over a dozen dusty beige cardboard boxes. They may have once been neatly stacked, but most of the stacks had fallen over. Some of the boxes had spilled their contents in the process, but it was too dark to determine exactly what those contents were. Amongst the boxes were irregular piles of debris: rebar and cracked I-beams of various lengths, pieces of broken concrete, wood and other refuse which Finch could not identify.

Pain flared, reminding him of his initial inquiry and he looked down at himself. His left arm wouldn't move quite right, and when he tried, it was very painful. There was no visible blood. Was it broken? Sprained? Mr. Reese would know.

 _Reese!_

He froze and felt a wave of adrenaline surge through his body. Mr. Reese had been with him in the moments before… this. Whatever had happened, Finch was certain it had happened to both of them. "Mr. Reese?" He inquired of the room. "Mr. Reese?!" He asked again with more volume but still there was no response. He grabbed for his phone, but his pockets were empty.

No phone.

Was he alone here?

It was time to find out.

He turned as far in both directions as his spine would allow, searching for any sign of Mr. Reese. Over his left shoulder, he saw it. Just visible beyond one of the boxes was a hand; a limp, blood streaked hand; a hand he knew. "John!" He exclaimed. He glanced sideways as he recognized the genuine fear, almost panic in his own voice.

He cleared his throat. If there was one thing he had learned through the last years, and most notably from his employee, it was that fear was not helpful in these situations. It could, and quite often did, make things worse.

So he swallowed his fear, grabbed a piece of I-beam with his right hand and pulled himself to his rather unsteady feet. Now, at least, he could see Mr. Reese, but what he saw did not comfort him. The man was lying on his back and utterly still. Was he breathing? Finch couldn't tell.

He began to make his way carefully through the debris, glancing up and down as he tried to both ascertain Mr. Reese's condition and keep himself from tripping. Reese was bleeding from several different places. Were any of the wounds deep, or life-threatening? Finch paused and closed his eyes. Mr. Reese was _bleeding._ Dead men don't bleed. Never in his life did Finch think he would be so glad to see someone bleed.

Somewhat bolstered by the knowledge that his employee lived, he moved with more ease and reached his destination without mishap. Kneeling awkwardly beside the injured man, he reached out with his good hand and checked Reese's pulse. He was relieved to find it was strong and steady.

Finch took his first deep breath since he had woken up. Gently but firmly, he shook Reese's shoulder and called his name in an effort to wake him, but he showed no sign of returning to consciousness any time soon. Trying not to think about what that might mean, Finch resigned himself to seeing what injuries he could tend while the man was out.

First though, he quickly and lightly ran his hand through all of Reese's pockets. No phone. Gently tilting Reese's head away from him, he checked for the earwig as well, but it too was missing.

Finch was thankful to find that none of the wounds were bleeding very heavily. Opening his coat and vest, he tore the tails off his shirt and used them to clean and bandage the cuts as well as he could manage with one hand. As he went it became apparent that the lacerations were the result of a fight with a knife-wielding opponent. It disturbed FInch that he was coming to know these things well enough to recognize them on sight.

Meanwhile, Mr. Reese gave absolutely no response to all the poking and prodding which Finch found quite unnerving.

oO0Oo

A/N - It has occurred to me that there are one or two of you out there who might just recognize this story for what it is: an homage to one of my favorite stories of all time. _That_ story took place in a different fandom, and in a very different situation, but I love the basic concept so much, I altered it to fit our POI friends. If you do happen to recognize it, you get a virtual cookie- and I really hope you like what I've done with it.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N I realize I probably owe you an apology. It was never my intention to make this story into some sort of challenge to be solved. I had just become concerned that IF someone recognized the basic idea they would not understand what I was doing with it. You don't need to figure out where the original story came from in order to enjoy this one. Please forget I even mentioned it, and let this story stand on its own.

Joan is in this chapter – I always loved her character and wished there was more of her.

Enjoy – and if you have a moment at the end, please let me know what you think. - Papaya

oO0Oo

As Carter dressed and signed herself out of the hospital, she tried to remember more about the night before but it continued to evade her. She also tried to contact first John and then Finch, but got no response from any of the calls or texts she sent.

Trying not to worry about them, they were inordinately resourceful after all, she walked out into the bright sunshine of a hot New York summer and groaned. Her headache immediately spiked. Instantly she began to sweat. She scanned the lot through slitted eyes, looking for her car, and she thought about how nice it was going to be to get in and turn the air conditioning all the way up.

But relief would have to wait because as she looked for her car she noticed something that piqued her interest. There was a woman sitting on a bench across the way, homeless by the look of her clothing and the full shopping cart next to her. What had caught Carter's attention was the fact that the woman was staring straight at her.

She thought about it for a moment, but then, dismissing her own aches, she crossed the street and sat down on the bench next to the mysterious women. "Hi."

Ever since she had started across the street the woman had been studiously looking anywhere but at Carter. Now that she had been addressed, she froze for a moment, then spoke in a near whisper out of the side of her mouth. "Are you Detective Carter?"

Carter smiled gently, "Yes, I am. Were you looking for me?"

The woman was decidedly nervous; not an uncommon reaction from a homeless person when facing law enforcement. She continued to murmur. "You know John?"

Carter's eyebrows shot up. She certainly hadn't expected to be handed a clue as soon as she stepped out of the hospital. "John?" The woman could be a little mixed up. Better to make sure they were on the same page from the beginning.

The woman smiled a bit and Carter could tell that she had been quite a beauty once upon a time. "Tall guy. He's taken to wearing a suit these days."

Carter smiled back. "Yeah. I know John." But then the smile fell. "You know what happened last night." It wasn't a question.

The woman nodded. "John said you were to be trusted. That if there was trouble, and I couldn't get a hold of him or his friend that I should contact you."

The knot of not-quite-worry in Carter's gut lost any indecision it may have had and settled in for the long haul. John and Finch were in some kind of trouble. "What can you tell me?"

But the woman didn't respond. She shook her head slightly and looked away.

Carter, skilled and experienced interrogator, decided her best option was to build rapport and build it quickly. "What's your name?"

"Joan"

Encouraged by the response, Carter held out her hand. "I'm Joss."

The woman shook her hand, smiling a bit ironically, since it had been a long time since anyone had treated her with respect - anyone besides John, that is.

"So, how do you know John?" Carter asked in her most friendly voice.

Joan looked off into the distance and nodded to herself, "I looked after him for a time… 'most everybody has a rough patch."

Carter smiled to herself, remembering the first time she and John had met. "I bet he needed some looking after back then." Then curiosity getting the better of her she asked, "What was he like?"

Joan thought about that for a moment and then responded. "He was a good man… but dangerous…" She said. "and sad - too sad…" Not wanting to paint John in too bad of a bad light she back-pedaled a bit. "He was a good man… but he wasn't quite - safe."

Carter huffed out a breath. "Still isn't."

She didn't like Carter's response very much, so she continued. "He looked after us… when he wasn't passed out drunk that is… Almost every day he brought back something for the group. A blanket… some food… once even some medicine one of the kids needed. I didn't ask him where he got it… And if anyone came looking for trouble… the rest of us knew to just get out of John's way."

Carter shook her head thinking about that for a moment, but then steered the conversation back to the matter at hand. "Joan…" She laid a hand on the woman's arm. "What happened last night?"

"You won't believe me." Joan looked away. "You'll think I'm just a crazy homeless woman."

Carter frowned and straightened. "Try me." She encouraged, then added, "John said you could trust me."

"I'm not sure John would believe me, either."

"Joan-"

"They disappeared." The words came out in a rush, as if she were afraid that if she didn't say them quickly she wouldn't say them at all.

"What do you mean, they disappeared?"

"See? I said it would sound crazy."

"Tell me everything that happened - from the beginning."

Joan took a deep breath. "John and sometimes his friend stop by once in a while… check on us… see if there's anything special that anyone needs… We never know when they're coming. They just show up." She took a deep breath and got to the heart of the matter. "Last night I was coming home and I happened to see the three of you come out of that diner. I was a couple blocks away, in the dark, but those two are pretty distinctive - even from that far away. John's friend has that limp and John has a way of… I don't know… somehow he moves like he's bigger than he actually is… a human shield… especially when he's with his friend."

Carter nodded, listening intently.

"I watched for a minute since I didn't know _you_ … But when you parted ways I started toward them. After that things happened fast. First I saw you get hit from behind. You went down and I was going to tell John, but then four men appeared out of nowhere. I didn't see where they came from… they were just _there_. One of them grabbed the little guy and the other three went after John - hard." She swallowed and cringed at the memory of violence. "John was winning, of course. I fully expected him to finish off his guys and then rescue his friend, but suddenly…" She glanced at Carter nervously. "Suddenly they weren't there."

"What?" Carter asked. "What do you mean they weren't there?"

"I told you you wouldn't believe me. But that's what I saw. One minute things are going crazy and the next those four - five now, including the one who hit you - those five guys are alone - they're just standing there. They looked... " She grimaced, but continued. "They looked like they said a prayer. And then they left. John and his friend were just - gone." She looked at Carter, a challenge in her eyes. "The men headed off in all different directions and I called 911."

Carter considered for a moment. Then looked at the woman beside her. "I believe you. Is there anything else… anything at all that you can tell me? What did the men look like? Did they have a car? Anything?"

Joan relaxed slightly, but shook her head. "I didn't stick around. I went to find a phone. I didn't see where they went and it was too dark to see anything anyways. Only reason I recognized _John_ was from how he moved."

Carter nodded, reached in her pocket and pulled out whatever cash she had. "Thank-you, Joan." She spoke sincerely and placed the bills into the woman's hands. "I'll look into this. And I won't stop until I know they're safe… Is there any way I can help you?"

Joan shook her head, stood and put a hand on her cart. "Find John. That's how you can help me."

Carter nodded and watched Joan slowly push her cart away. Then she stood and retreated to the sanctuary of her car's air conditioning.

oO0Oo

When Finch had done all he could, and had assured himself once again that a conscious Mr. Reese would not be joining him any time soon, he regained his feet and began to explore. There had to be a way out of here, but it would take him some time to thoroughly inspect their surroundings. The room was quite large, about the size of a typical high school gymnasium and nearly as tall. And the amount of debris would force him to take quite a circuitous route if his investigation was to be comprehensive.

He struck out in the direction that looked most promising: the only source of light. He reached the wall and found it was made of metal, and the light was filtering in through a seam. Upon further exploration he found the seam was evidence of a very large door. He could see the point where it opened, but he would have to take a detour around the debris in order to reach it. Mr. Reese, no doubt, would just scramble up and over. He would have to be more cautious.

When he finally reached his destination, he found that it was indeed a large double door, the type that slid open in both directions along overhead, wheeled tracks. He grabbed one of the handles and pulled. It didn't budge. After straining with it for a bit in case it was simply heavy, he stopped and examined it more closely. There was no sign of a locking mechanism of any kind, at least not on this side. But that didn't mean it didn't have one. After pulling as hard as he could, first on one half of the door and then on the other, he gave up. Either it was simply too heavy for him to move, or it was locked from the other side. After staring at it bitterly for a moment, he sighed and continued on his search. Perhaps there were other, more accessible exits.

Before he continued, he returned to check on Mr. Reese. The man remained oblivious to the world. His wounds seemed to have stopped bleeding for the most part, though, so after one last check to reassure himself that Reese's pulse was still steady, he continued on his way. Picking his way carefully among the debris he resolved to check every inch of the room.

For the next hour or two - it was difficult to measure the passage of time without any sort of clock or access to changing daylight - he would slowly maneuver through the debris to examine a section of wall, return to check on Mr. Reese, and then strike out once more. Finally, he had almost finished a complete circuit of the room and had only one last place to check. He was headed back toward the wall where he'd discovered the door. Perhaps there was another, smaller door set into the wall on the other side of the larger one. It was his last hope - but it was to be dashed. When he reached the last unexplored section, he found nothing but a blank wall.

When he had found Mr. Reese alive and not seriously injured other than the nasty blow to the head, he had been encouraged. He'd been certain that once Mr. Reese awoke they could find a way out. That certainty had faded away over the last hours, along with the hope that the memory of how they had arrived in this place would return to him.

Every time he had returned to find Mr. Reese still unconscious, his concern for the man's health had grown. What if something was really wrong and he had lapsed into a coma? How could he help Mr. Reese if there was no way out of this place?

There were no exits, no phones with which to call for help, no food nor water to sustain a prolonged stay. There was no way of knowing if John would ever wake up. The logical conclusion was that unless something changed drastically, they would not make it out of this alive. And Finch was nothing if not logical.

Sorely dispirited, he had just begun to pick his way back to his companion when he heard a rather loud and sudden groan. It was quickly followed by another, and Finch picked up his pace.

A third groan was abruptly cut off and replaced by quick but quiet breathing. Finch took that to mean Mr. Reese had fully regained both consciousness and control over his body's responses to his obvious and considerable pain.

"Finch?" Came a rather breathless inquiry, both discomfort and concern barely suppressed.

"Right… here… Mr. Reese…" Finch panted as he came within view. Careful to hold his arm tight to his middle he lowered himself once again to the injured man's side.

"You don't look so hot, Finch."

Finch blew a quick breath out through his nose. It wasn't quite a chuckle, but it was definitely relief. If Mr. Reese was able to quip, then his condition was not nearly as dire as feared.

What Finch didn't see was the relief John felt at knowing his companion was mobile and unharmed other than a dislocated elbow.

"Speak for yourself, Mr. Reese." He responded in kind.

Without lifting his head, Reese asked, "What did you find?"

Thankful, yet again, for his employee's quick mind that had immediately ascertained what he'd been doing, he began his report. "It seems we find ourselves in some difficulty…"

"Nonsense, Finch." Reese interrupted, not liking his companion's defeated tone. "We'll just... call Carter... and we'll be out of here... in no time."

"Unless you happen to have a phone concealed somewhere, Mr. Reese, I'm afraid we won't be calling anyone." Their eyes met. Finch looked away and continued. "I have explored the perimeter of the room as best I could. There are two solid walls on either side." Finch gestured. "In that direction is an unfinished wall of rock and dirt, and directly behind me, the wall is made of solid metal. There is a wide double door in it that I fear is locked on the other side. I certainly couldn't move it." He paused to swallow. "I would surmise that we find ourselves in the end of an unfinished subway tunnel somewhere under the city."

"Your machine can't reach in here."

"No, it can't."

Reese just looked at his boss for a beat. "Oh. So- we're in trouble." He admitted.

"We're in trouble" Finch agreed. "Also…" He looked away uncomfortably. "I am unable to recall the exact circumstances that put us here."

The calm, quiet voice reassured him. "That's okay Finch. That's to be expected when someone clocks you over the head with a butt end of a .45 and then gases you."

Finch's eyes widened slightly both because of the information and because Mr. Reese remembered it when he didn't.

It was John's turn to look away. "I'm sorry, Harold."

He knew Reese felt he had failed. Finch glanced around the room as if he was searching for words in the debris. "I have come to know you and your abilities quite well, Mr. Reese. If there had been a way to avoid our predicament, I am absolutely certain you would have found it."

Reese silently disagreed. It was his job to protect. He should have found a way. He knew, though, that any argument would be pointless. He closed his eyes briefly at the memory of the altercation. Then he groaned softly - more a complaint than a cry of pain - and sat up.

Finch reached out with his good arm and tried to help while protesting. "Are you certain you should try that just now? We seem to be in no immediate danger and therefore are in no rush."

Once upright, Reese closed his eyes and held perfectly still for a moment while he waited for the room to stop spinning. When it had at least slowed, he opened his eyes and responded. "Our number is still in danger, Finch - or about to cause some. Now give me your arm." He said while gesturing towards the limb held tight against his companion's body.

Finch lifted it slowly. "I don't… what are you-" Then he couldn't help but cry out in sudden pain as the joint was deftly slipped back into place.

Reese continued to hold Finch's wrist in one hand while supporting his elbow with the other. Their eyes met, Finch's wide with shock and pain, Reese's calm and still.

"I'm sorry about that, Finch, but it will start to feel better now. How long has it been it like that?"

"I… I… um" uncharacteristically at a loss for words due to the fire that had been ignited in the injured joint, Finch continued to stare wide-eyed. Mr. Reese calmly continued to support his arm. Finally the pain began to fade. "It was like that when I woke up, so I don't exactly know, but I think it's been about two hours since then." At those words, he thought he saw Mr. Reese's gaze sharpen.

It bothered John that he'd been unconscious that much longer than Finch. But there was little to do about it now, so he moved on, shaking his head. "It's mid-morning now so it's been like that for a while. It'll take some time for the swelling to go down. Get ready for the 'pins and needles.'"

"How do you know what time it is?"

Reese nearly smiled. "I'm hungry."

Finch paused but didn't respond to that. "Did you mention gas?"

Reese nodded slightly. he'd let go of Finch's arm and was now surveying their surroundings. "We were walking back to the car. There was no one in sight. I had checked." His frown deepened slightly as he wondered how the enemy team had gotten the advantage over him. Where had they been hiding? "There were four of them. Three kept me busy just long enough to pull the rug out from under our feet. Literally. The sidewalk grate they pushed us onto dropped open. We fell and the vault filled with gas. I'm sorry, Harold, it was probably my fault your elbow was dislocated. I grabbed you trying to break your fall." He wouldn't meet Finch's eyes.

Finch pursed his lips slightly. "I may not remember much, Mr. Reese. But I am convinced my injuries would have been more severe if you hadn't done that."

Reese just shook his head slightly, wondering at the confidence Finch had in him.

It was true, though. Reese had realized how much damage a fall like that would have done to Finch's already compromised body and had grabbed and pulled as they fell, so that Finch had landed on him, instead of on the concrete floor of the vault. "Once we were out cold they must have transported us here; wherever _here_ is." He waved a hand at the room.

"So now we need to find a way out." Finch stood, rubbing his arm, as circulation returned with a vengeance. "I would appreciate you taking a look at that door." He gestured towards the far wall. "You may have more success than I had in opening it."

Reese nodded. "Right, but first I need you to do something for me."

Finch looked at him warily.

"I managed to break my leg when we fell... It's not serious, but it needs to be set and splinted before I can get anywhere on it."

Finch opened his mouth to say something but could not find the words.

oO0Oo


	3. Chapter 3

A/N Chapter 3 is here a day early at impvme's request!

oO0Oo

Carter decided her first step would be to return to the scene of the crime. If John and Finch had 'disappeared' as Joan had said, then there was an explanation. And she intended to find it.

She parked in nearly the same spot she had the night before. Getting out she began to investigate. She spoke with the staff and a few patrons in the diner, but no one wanted to tell her anything, and she wasn't sure they had anything to tell anyway. The diner had been all but deserted last night, and these weren't the kind of streets where people went for a stroll.

She walked up and down the street in front of the diner, retracing her own steps and heading in the direction she had seen John and Finch take. She tried to deduce where they had been when they'd been attacked. 

She also continued to call and text at regular intervals, but still received no response. Their phones both went straight to voicemail and she had stopped leaving messages.

After over an hour, she was discouraged. Maybe Joan had seen it wrong and those men had somehow managed to subdue them - take them somewhere. Or maybe they were already dead. As hard as she tried to keep the thought from her mind, she'd long ago stopped being unable to face facts.

The thought made her insides twist, and she knew the nausea wasn't caused by her concussion. The fear that she was too late - that John and Finch were dead was unthinkable.

She looked down at her feet and forced herself to take a deep, calming breath.

Then she blinked. She tilted her head, got down on her knees and put her fingers through the sidewalk grate on which she'd been standing.

" _They disappeared…"  
"The men looked liked they said a prayer..." _Because they were looking down?

Maybe the grate had been rigged to drop open and trap the two men. She nodded to herself. If _she_ had to take John against his will - this was not a bad way to do it. She examined it closely. Then she pulled out her phone and called the city. She needed a worker to come and open the grate, explain how it worked and tell her if it had been altered in any way.

Since it was nearly noon and she hadn't eaten since dinner with Taylor last night, she went and grabbed a sandwich at the diner while she waited for the city worker to show.

 **oO0Oo**

Finch looked at Mr. Reese warily.

"I need you to set and splint my leg before I can get anywhere on it." The corner of John's mouth quirked in sympathy. "See if you can find two pieces of something sturdy to use as a splint. We'll also need some strips of cloth."

Finch still didn't speak. How could the man be so calm? And set a broken bone? He was no field medic. But he merely nodded and went to find the items requested.

He soon returned with two lengths of board. "Will these do?" He asked.

"Perfect." Reese responded, taking the items and laying them on either side of his left leg below the knee. "Now we need some cloth."

Finch shrugged out of his coat (which he was glad to do considering how hot it was) and removed his vest. He tried to tear it but the sturdy fabric resisted his efforts.

Reese reached for a knife he had forgotten wasn't there. "They took my knife." He lamented. "I liked that knife." He looked around at the debris. "Try that." He nodded towards a bit of metal that appeared to have an edge.

Finch retrieved the item and found it sharp enough to cut his rather expensive vest into several strips. "Now what?" He asked when he had finished.

"You'll need to slide them under my leg… gently." He added, almost as an afterthought, but Finch knew he was bracing himself for what was sure to be a painful process.

Soon the strips were in place and the two men were as prepared as they could be. Although Reese was now a shade paler than he had been.

He gingerly rolled his pant leg to his knee. "It's really quite simple, Harold. See where the bone doesn't quite line up?"

Finch did. He really wished he didn't, but he decided that throwing up would not be an appropriate response to the situation. Mr. Reese was still talking in that quiet, encouraging voice Finch had heard him use with their Numbers when things were especially bad.

"Good. Now- take a firm hold on my ankle and pull until it straightens itself out. Don't be gentle. You'll only prolong the process. It won't take long."

Finch looked up at the former agent. Doing that would cause jagged bone to dig into raw flesh. How could he cause such pain? Mr. Reese gazed back calmly, giving absolutely no hint as to what was going through his mind.

They had no choice. Steeling himself, Finch nodded once and got himself into position. 'Pull and straighten,' he told himself. 'Pull and straighten.'

Before the bone slid into place Reese lost his grip on silent endurance and groaned. That part, indeed, did not take long, but another part was yet before them. The splint had to be tied.

"You're doing great, Harold." Reese said breathlessly as Finch reached for the strips. "Had to... do this myself once… This is a lot better… Thank-" The last word was cut off as Finch began to secure the splint. The cloth had to be tied tightly, or it would do little good.

When he was finished, Reese was pale and sweating - and not just because of the heat. "That's a great splint, Harold. I'm just gonna lie down for a minute."

 **oO0Oo**


	4. Chapter 4

A/N - Sorry that last chapter, while fun, didn't advance the story too far. This one should be a little better. Plus we still have to take care of those pesky Numbers. We're the good guys - which means we have to do both.

oO0Oo

While she waited for the city worker, Carter reluctantly paged through the file that Finch had given her. Thankfully - whatever EMT had scooped her off the pavement and taken her to the hospital had also thought to gather up her belongings. Fusco had put the file in the cabinet with her clothes.

She really didn't feel like doing anything that would distract from her search for her missing friends, but she also knew how seriously they took these cases. If nothing else it was a distraction from her growing concern.

The latest number, Allen Frey, lawyer, had really been shafted by his boss. He'd had a promising career for several years. Been promoted several times. Was hoping to make partner before too long. And then he'd brought his lovely new wife to a company party. The boss set his eyes on her and wouldn't give up. When the wife turned down all advances- seems these two were one of the few couples in New York that were actually happily married- he changed tactics.

The boss had money. He had power. And he used his resources to ruin Frey's life in every way possible. First he'd fired him. Then he'd accused him of stealing from the company. He tried everything to make the poor guy look bad in the eyes of his wife. And he'd finally succeeded. When the wife had been mailed 'proof' (in the form of doctored photos) that he'd cheated on her, she finally believed. She'd left the poor guy. And of course Mr. Bossman had swooped in to comfort her.

If Carter was in this guy's shoes, she'd have had some homicidal thoughts of her own. Finch had pointed out that it was possible that the boss was planning to kill Frey, but Carter was pretty sure it was the other way around.

The folder Finch had handed her last night also contained all the info necessary to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that Frey had been set up. So she would have two jobs. Keep the guy from killing his boss - (or possibly being killed by his boss) and make sure the wife saw the proof that her husband was innocent. What happened beyond that was up to Mr. and Mrs. Frey.

As she finished her sandwich, she called Fusco to see if maybe he could get Frey's phone cloned while he was out investigating his triple homicide. He promised he would try, and asked after her progress.

"Nothing yet, Fusco."

"You worried?"

"About those two? Nah." She'd tried to force a smile into her voice and then hung up before he could call her on the lie.

"Where are you?" She asked under her breath.

 **oO0Oo**

By the time Harold finished tying the splint, Reese was pale and sweating. "That's a great splint, Harold. I'm just gonna lie down for a minute."

Finch quickly bunched up his discarded coat and placed it under Mr. Reese's head as he lay back. Then he sat and watched as the man tried to recover some of his strength. The ordeal over, he felt himself beginning to tremble when Mr. Reese spoke; "By the way, we're going to get out of here just fine."

At the moment, Finch was fairly certain his employee was wrong and was deliberately lying to give him some false comfort. But he nodded absently anyways.

"Harold, you have to believe me."

Finch looked up to see Reese watching him intently. "I would like that, Mr. Reese, I just don't see how."

"Well then we better start looking for a way. You said there was a door. That sounds like a good place to start. Help me up."

"I really don't think that's the best idea at the moment."

Reese smiled wearily. "Probably not, but a bed of broken concrete isn't really as comfortable as you might think. Help me up."

"A moment?" Finch asked as he got to his own feet and went on another search. He returned almost before Reese could wonder where he'd gone, another,considerably longer board in his hands. Knowing he himself would be of little use as crutch, he'd found something else that would be suitable. He handed it over.

Reese thanked him and then between the two of them, they managed to get Reese on his feet. He hopped a couple times as he settled the crutch. "There. Good as new."

If Finch had been the type to roll his eyes, he would have made good use of the gesture.

In truth, Reese was angry with himself. Even with the distraction of trying to ease Finch's descent, he _knew_ how to fall without breaking a bone. It had been a stupid mistake and now he would have to deal with the consequences. He determined not to let his handicap slow them down. "Where's that door?" Reese asked and started to hop/hobble in the direction Finch had indicated earlier. "And Harold, why is it so hot in here?" He paused momentarily to shug out of his coat and roll up the sleeves of his not-so-white shirt.

Finch shook his head. "I'm not sure. Perhaps a lack of ventilation, along with proximity to machinery of some kind? Something to do with the subway system? I confess I am not well versed in the under-workings of the city."

"At least it's a dry heat."

Finch acknowledged the attempt at humor with a look.

"Sorry."

About an hour later, both men were convinced that the door would not be their point of egress. While it probably was the way they had arrived, whoever had put them here had made it impossible to open from the inside.

Finch settled himself carefully on a nearby box. Panting and sweating from their exertions, he relented and rolled up his own sleeves. It was not a time for decorum. "So that's it. There's no way out."

 **oO0Oo**

Finally, almost an hour later than promised, the city worker showed up. He was clearly annoyed at having to help a lone lady detective with a crazy story.

He opened the grate, slid a ladder down into the vault and descended. Carter followed him. He showed her briefly how the mechanism worked and then began to check it more thoroughly for tampering while she poked around in the detritus on the floor. At almost the same time, they both made disturbing discoveries. The city worker found where the opening mechanism had been tampered with. A type of crude remote control had been added to the wires, allowing anyone with the controller to open the vault from almost anywhere within a five hundred yard radius. Carter wasn't surprised at his discovery since she had just found two smashed phones underneath some newspaper in a corner.

Now she knew for certain. John and Finch had been captured. 'By whom?' and 'Why?' were questions she still had to answer along with, 'Where are they now?' and the more worrisome, 'Are they okay?'

She spent the next half hour questioning the city worker about the workings of the underground systems of the city. Unfortunately, from this particular vault, you could access about five different subway lines leading all over the city, along with several maintenance tunnels.

She then spent another forty-five minutes annoying the worker while she explored the underground area looking for any clue as to a direction; _anything_ that would suggest where John and Finch had been taken. She found nothing.

The city worker glared at her as they climbed out of the vault. She thanked him anyway and retreated to her car.

"Where are you, John?" She whispered to herself as she sat with the air conditioning running and thought about everything she'd learned.

oO0Oo

While the door probably was the way they had arrived, whoever had put them here had made certain it was impossible to open from the inside.

Finch settled himself carefully on a nearby box. "So that's it. There's no way out."

Reese regarded his fellow prisoner. This situation was unusual for them. Normally, Finch would have some kind of access to his computers which meant a nearly unlimited wealth of information and resources. Now the genius billionaire had nothing. He was well outside his comfort zone, and had little to contribute to their escape.

Reese was somewhat more comfortable with a situation which would require a more hands-on solution. "Finch, listen to me. It's true that we are alone. And no one is coming to help us. But that _in no way_ means that we are helpless." He pointed up.

Surprised that he hadn't noticed before that Mr. Reese was particularly spiritual, Finch looked up.

Reese nearly chuckled. "People rarely look up, Harold. Remember that the next time you need a place to hide."

Far from expecting divine intervention, Reese had simply noticed something Finch had missed in spite of his earlier contemplation of the ceiling: There was an opening in the wall similar to a hatch. It was well above their heads, but there was a dim light filtering through it. It could be a way out.

"We might be able to climb out of here." Reese murmured. "Well… _you_ might." He added quietly to himself.

" _How_?" Finch protested, not having heard the second part of the statement. "It's at least ten feet above our heads and I'm sure you've noticed that neither one of us is exactly up to monkey-like behavior at the moment."

"'Needs must when the devil drives,' Harold." Reese quipped. "Plenty of boxes we can pile up." He nodded at their surroundings.

Finch just stared at him.

But Reese lay down his crutch and picked up a box. Hopping and limping, he managed to set it on top of a set of boxes already in place below the opening. "One." He said, looking at Finch expectantly.

It was crazy - really - insane. Broken leg, various lacerations, dualling concussions, a dislocated joint that would remain swollen and painful for many hours yet, not to mention a compromised spine… and Reese wanted them to engage in construction? But he was right. They were alone - with no way to call for help. That opening was their only option.

Finch limped over to a box near him and, gritting his teeth, managed to lift it and place it on top of the one John had positioned.

oO0Oo

Thanks for reading and please review if you have a moment. - Papaya


	5. Chapter 5

This chapter is dedicated to blacktop, SWWoman, and stlouiegal. They reviewed the last chapter, and I haven't had a chance to respond to them yet...

oO0Oo

At a loss for where to look next for their mutual friends, Carter decided to check if there was any progress on their latest Number. She called Fusco to see if he'd managed to find time to clone Frey's phone. He had. In fact, in listening in he had learned that Frey was planning on meeting his boss near their offices in just over an hour.

Carter thanked him for the information and headed over to the address Fusco had given her.

When she arrived at their planned meeting place, she found a good vantage point and parked. It was frustrating to sit here and wait when she knew she should be looking for John and Finch.

Finally she spotted Frey approaching the building and decided to take a soft (and hopefully more expedient) approach. She caught up to the guy and introduced herself. This, of course, made a man with an illegal firearm tucked in his pants rather nervous. But Carter was quite gifted in getting uncooperative people to talk to her. And Frey did.

She'd been correct in her interpretation of the situation. Thankfully, Frey was amenable to her suggestion that perhaps murder was not the best course of action.

They had a nice chat, and then she'd handed over the folder, taken possession of the weapon, and they'd parted ways. Frey would not try to kill his boss, and he had the proof to show his wife. The rest was up to Mr. and Mrs. Frey. Satisfied, Carter turned to leave.

It was a warm night in New York. The heat of the day had been oppressive, but now it was almost comfortable. Carter caught herself looking around for a tall form with dark hair. It was true, John or occasionally Finch, was usually around - just in case things went south with a Number. But of course she saw no sign of either.

By this time it was getting late. Carter was tired, her head was throbbing once again and she was getting more concerned with every hour that passed. But she knew that she had done all she could for the moment. She had no leads. In the morning she would take a fresh look at things, although she knew she would not sleep well this night.

She was comforting herself with the thought of a late supper with Taylor when her phone rang. It was Fusco. She very nearly didn't answer, but then relented. Maybe he had learned something about their missing friends. "What is it?"

"Hey - You home yet?"

"Very nearly."

"Well I was wondering if you'd stop by the precinct on your way. I'd like you to take a look at something."

Joss sighed. "Okay. As long as you promise it won't take too long. I'm tired." She could almost hear his nod.

"Sure - won't take a minute."

oO0Oo

When she arrived she was surprised to see that her partner had his crime scene photos

spread out on his desk. "I thought you said this was open and shut."

Fusco grimaced. "I did. But… just take a look and tell me if anything seems off."

Carter rolled her eyes, "I need to get home to Taylor..." But she picked them up and studied them closely. At first glance it seemed a typical sad story: three young men, looking about 12-16 years old, with their entire lives ahead of them, had instead gotten into an argument over drugs and shot each other. One bullet hole was visible in each chest and a scattering of both loose and packaged drugs littered the pavement around them.

But then Carter smiled a little and began to nod. Fusco was right. Only it wasn't that something in the pictures was _wrong…_ it was that _nothing_ was.

Lionel was watching and saw her smirk. "Uh huh. That's what I thought."

She continued to shake her head. "It's too perfect. It's as if someone was trying to teach CSI 'This is what a drug shootout looks like'." She looked up at her partner. "This was staged. But why? And by whom?"

At that, Fusco shook his head. "You tell me. I'd like to ask our mutual friends about it, but..." The sheepish look he gave her let her know that he was almost as worried as she.

Carter frowned her agreement. "Yeah…" Then she brought him up to speed on everything she had learned from Joan. He shook his head but agreed that every avenue of which they were aware was being thoroughly investigated. There were no more leads to follow, at least for the moment.

"Well- it's late, Fusco. As much as I hate to admit it, it looks like we won't get any further tonight. Let's get some sleep, and in the morning I'll head over to your crime scene and do some canvassing. See what I can find. Okay?"

"Yeah. I'll meet you there. I'll even bring coffee."

Carter gave him a genuine smile as she turned to leave.

oO0Oo

Finch limped over to a box near him and, gritting his teeth, managed to lift it and place it on top of one John had positioned. Not surprisingly, even with a broken leg, John was working about twice as fast as he was. Finch supposed he should be grateful John was 'allowing' him to participate at all.

And so was their activity for the next several hours of their imprisonment. Given that they were both compromised in their physical conditions, and the fact that boxes had to be checked, and sometimes re-packed in order to be sturdy enough to use, it was slow going.

They had managed to build their lopsided tower about three-quarters of the necessary height when they both happened to reach the pile at nearly the same time. Reese dropped an especially heavy crate on top of the one Finch had just placed and wrapped an arm across his shirtfront. He half-concealed a grimace and was trying to suppress a groan. Finch immediately frowned, knowing well the type of pain John had to be in before any of it would show on his face.

"What's wrong with your chest?" Finch asked bluntly as he wiped sweat from his eyes.

Reluctantly, Reese responded, "I may have busted a rib, too."

"Why didn't you say something?!"

Reese smiled painfully. "I was afraid you'd try to put a splint on it."

Finch simply glared.

"I'll be fine…" Reese dismissed the issue as minor and went for a distraction. "So who put us down here, Finch? I don't think our latest Number was up to it."

Finch scowled at him but decided to let the matter of broken ribs rest for the moment. "No. And I'm hoping the information we gave Detective Carter will be enough for them to stop Allen Frey from killing his former employer."

Reese pursed his lips and nodded as he limped away to retrieve another box. "Assuming that was his intention, I agree there's a good chance they can figure it out without anyone getting killed."

"He is _not_ the source of our current situation."

"No... HR? Elias? "

"I doubt HR would resort to such theatrics. It is possible that Elias has decided to get us out of the way." Finch suggested, checking a crate for stability.

Reese considered and then nodded. "Maybe he had plans, and didn't want any party crashers."

Finch nodded. "We do have a nasty habit of crashing his 'parties.'"

"Hard to believe he'd risk losing his chess partner." Reese suggested.

"If it _is_ Elias, it will be something very important to him. And that's bad news for us. He will have been extremely thorough with our imprison-"

"Finch…" Reese tried to stop him before his discouragement became contagious.

"Even if he has no intention of actually killing us, he has done an excellent job of putting us in a place to die easily…"

"Finch…" Talking about the efficiency of their enemy was not beneficial. Reese knew how important it was to maintain a positive outlook in these situations. The more dire the situation, the more necessary the optimism.

"He would have made certain it was impossible for us to-"

"Finch!" Reese interrupted forcefully.

Finch looked at him in surprise.

"His _intentions are not what matters now._ Ours _do._ " But then, because he had taken a deep breath and spoken loudly, he couldn't help it, he grabbed his chest again.

Finch cringed.

Reese coughed.

He coughed again, and this time, although he tried to hide it, Finch saw him spit a mouthful of blood.

Then, with sinking heart, Finch realized: Mr. Reese's lungs were compromised. These weren't just bruised or cracked ribs. This was a jagged, broken rib - _at least_ one – that had torn a hole in his lung. If they didn't get him help soon, he would suffocate.

But Reese just met the shocked, fearful gaze evenly as he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand: "We _are_ going to get out of here, Finch. It's just going to take a little longer than we thought."

 _Reese_ had known, from the moment he woke up, how much trouble he was in. He had been trying to gauge how much time he had left; how long he could hold out in order to get Finch to safety.

Things were slightly different now that they _both_ knew just how bad things were.

Finch still stared – the impossibility of what they faced staggered him.

Reese decided Finch needed to take a break almost as much as he did. "Look - We've been awake for a very… long… time…" He closed his eyes and gestured vaguely at their lopsided pyramid of boxes. "It'll still be there…. in the 'morning.'" And as much as he tried not to, he gasped, turning away so Finch wouldn't see his pain.

"Will you?" Finch asked softly.

Instead of answering his question, Reese faced him, made direct eye-contact and insisted, "We're _going_ to get out of here, Finch."

Face to face, Finch's fear for his friend was plain.

"Harold." Reese insisted.

Finch looked away – despair etched on his features.

But Reese spoke with all the confidence he could muster. "We _are_."

And then FInch met his eyes and firmly nodded his agreement.

For Mr. Reese's sake, if not his own, he would endeavor to believe.

Then he set about finding a relatively clear spot for both of them to rest. Mr. Reese was certainly right about one thing: they were both beyond exhausted.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N - This chapter is for Lisquirt who gave me the exact encouragement I needed at the right moment. This chapter wouldn't be up tonight without you!

oO0Oo

In the morning, Carter was in the neighborhood where Fusco's fake drug deal had gone down. She was busy knocking on doors, annoyed that her partner hadn't arrived with her coffee yet. She had barely slept. Instead she had tossed and turned, running through all the info she had on John and FInch's disappearance - with no result.

Also in the wee hours of the morning, the question of just why, exactly, she was so concerned had begun to fill her thoughts.

Of course the city was better off with them at work. And the fact that her thoughts seemed to be slightly more about John than Finch was simply because he was more likely to be in trouble.

At least that's what she'd told herself as she'd finally drifted off.

After her third conversation with a person who 'hadn't seen anything,' she sighed and prepared to move, still un-caffeinated, to the next door. She didn't make it that far. A large man approached and asked politely, "Detective Carter. May I have a word?"

Instantly she put a hand on her sidearm, but he had no visible weapon, so she was inclined to at least hear what he had to say. Maybe she'd finally get some information that led somewhere. 

When she nodded, the man approached and began to walk alongside her. "You are looking into the unfortunate killing of three young drug dealers near here."

Carter kept a hand on her weapon as they walked. "And? You know something about that?"

He smiled for a moment, gazing around at the area, then responded. "What I _know_ is that you are protected. You and Taylor are not to be touched."

Carter barely held back a gasp at the sound of her son's name.

"But Davida? The girl that Taylor's dating? She's not." He looked at Carter with eyes that were cold. "What would Devon and Maria say to you if their daughter suffered an accident because she was dating your son?"

Carter stopped walking and looked at him.

"Leave this one alone, Detective. Let it be what it looks like." and he walked away.

Just as he disappeared around the corner, Fusco appeared. "Hey, Carter. Coffee as promised." He held up two steaming paper cups.

She just looked at him for a beat, her heart racing. Then she took one of the cups and sipping it she turned and walked back towards her car. She was not one to be easily frightened off, but she needed time to think. "I'm done, Fusco. I'm going back to the precinct. You should too."

"What?" Fusco stared after her uncomprehending, but suddenly suspicious. "Somethin' goin on here that I should know about?"

She looked at him. "It's just a drug deal, Fusco. This is a waste of time." And she left.

Lionel looked after her, worried. He knew that look. He'd seen it before. He'd worn it himself more times than he cared to think about. It was the look of a good cop being forced to go against what they knew was right.

He pursed his lips and looked at the ground in thought. Either way, this was not the time or place to discuss it. But he would not let it rest. Carter was too good for that.

oOo

When he got back in his car, Fusco sent a text asking Carter if she'd like to meet privately, and where.

Then he drove slowly back towards the precinct. Wherever she was, he knew she was struggling between knowing the right thing to do and whatever they had used to threaten her; probably her kid.

Ten minutes later he received an address. He pulled a u-turn and headed back the way he'd come.

He met her at a diner. Two cups of coffee were already on the table. He sat silently across from her for some time.

"What've they got on you?" He finally asked.

She frowned at him. "How'd you know?"

"Experience." He grimaced and looked away. "So who was it?"

Relieved that she had someone with whom to discuss this she began to share. "Not sure - but I think it was one of Elias's men. I want to go back to the precinct and look through some mug shots."

Fusco frowned. "Why would Elias stage a drug deal gone bad in his own territory? Doesn't make sense."

"Yeah. We gotta find out who those boys were, first. Maybe they were into something more than just drugs."

Nodding, he added, "Sure would be nice to ask Glasses about it. He usually manages to have that kind of info right at his fingertips."

She looked out the window and chewed her bottom lip. "It isn't right - them being MIA like this. And now? What if it _is_ Elias? What if our two mysteries are connected?" She sat back, and shook her head. "Something's wrong... Really wrong. I can _feel_ it."

Fusco nodded. "Okay. I'll look into our three dead guys. You check out those mug shots."

When Carter just continued to frown out the window, Fusco added. "Look. We got nothin' but dead ends as far as our mutual friends are concerned. We gotta follow the leads that we _have_. Maybe somethin' will turn up." With that, he tossed a bill on the table for the coffee and left.

Carter finished her cup thoughtfully and then followed.

oO0Oo

A few hours of fitful rest later, Finch had resumed work on their pyramid. Higher and higher he climbed. He would set a box on one layer, climb slowly, painfully, lift it to the next level, then repeat.

Mr. Reese was still out, but Finch had found sleep elusive. His abused muscles were so stiff and painful, at first he couldn't move at all. Lying there, he had wondered how he would ever get off the floor. Then he glanced at the pale man beside him. How many times had Reese pushed himself beyond the limits of human endurance to accomplish what needed to be done? In fact, given what Finch could deduce of his current condition, he'd been pushing himself for a long while now. Gritting his teeth against familiar, but none the less, debilitating pain, he sat up. Reluctantly, he did all the exercises and stretches that usually helped in the mornings, but they were pitifully inadequate in the face of his current situation.

Finally, with a glance at his companion, he forced himself to stand up. It hurt terribly. But it still had to be done. And he knew from experience that the stiffness would ease slightly with continued movement.

He didn't even try to rouse Mr. Reese. The man needed to rest, and hopefully heal. Instead he had gotten back to work. He felt a renewed sense of urgency because he'd realized that yet another rather serious problem was steadily growing worse. Not only was Mr. Reese in serious trouble because of his injuries, but they were trapped without food and water. Lack of food was only an inconvenience, but water…

When he'd looked at Mr. Reese before climbing to his feet, something had seemed off - something besides the pale skin and pinched features. It had taken him a moment, but then he realized: They'd both been sweating heavily since waking here, but now - John's skin was dry.

Then he noticed that he, himself had stopped sweating in spite of the heat and his exertion. Sleepiness and headache were beginning, although it was hard to tell where the headache due to being knocked out ended and the one caused by dehydration began. And in Reese's case the effects would be further exacerbated by blood loss. His external bleeding may have been minimal, but the internal could be quite severe. Finch had no way of knowing.

Guessing conservatively, Finch figured Reese had less than twenty-four hours before he lapsed into coma and eventual death.

At the moment, Finch wasn't sure if Reese was asleep or unconscious and it bothered him to no end that it didn't really _matter_. Either way, the man was _resting_. The important thing was that Finch had managed to nearly complete their ridiculous pyramid. Only one more layer and he would be able to grasp the lower edge of the opening.

That was when he saw it. Climbing down from placing the highest box, he saw something he'd previously missed.

It was the most innocuous thing in the room; something that should have had no importance whatsoever. It should never have called attention to itself. It was simply a set of parallel seams in a wall. How he had missed it in his previous searches he had no idea, but it was there now. Finch knew it was just possible that their salvation lay behind that strip of metal conduit.

In his excitement and hope he cried aloud, "I found it!" He completed his descent and made his way over to it. He studied it closely. It was of a typical width for an electrical conduit…

It could – just possibly – hold a connection to the outside world… and rescue. _If_ he could get it open…

A choked whisper caught his attention. "What'd you find?"

It might be empty.

But Mr. Reese was awake.

It might hold a wealth of wires – information – connections to the world outside. Or it could be nothing.

Finch felt – for the first time in too long – a thrill of hope.

"A possible conduit." He responded to the barely heard whisper. "Maybe nothing."

But how to get it open? He looked over at Reese. He was certain the man would find a tool or something and then use brute strength to pry it open.

There was little hope of that at the moment.

But Mr. Reese, it seemed, would never stop surprising him.

While Finch had been studying the wall, Reese had somehow gotten to his feet and slowly staggered over, holding onto various items along the way to keep himself upright. He joined Finch in regarding the silent seams. "We need to get that open." came the gravelly whisper. But the statement was really more of a question – or a request for reassurance. "There was a likely piece of rebar on the floor near the door." Reese spoke, his shortness of breath becoming more pronounced. "Would you mind?"

When Finch returned with the requested item, he saw that Reese's long, agile fingers had located an inconsistency in one of the seams. It was just wide enough to wedge the end of the rebar into it. "Now comes the hard part." Reese grunted in effort and pain. He put all his weight behind it and tried to lever the seam wider. He was soon forced to stop, panting.

"Let me try." Finch requested, if only to give Reese an excuse to rest.

"You're not in much better shape, Harold. How's your back?" Reese asked rhetorically. "Not exactly up to this, I'm guessing. Just give me a minute?" And he strained against the bar with renewed effort.

It gave. The seam split, the metal peeled back and Reese collapsed against the wall and slid to the floor. He was breathing hard, but only able to draw in little gasps of air. "Is it?" He managed.

Finch leaned in quickly and peered into the opening. He couldn't hold back a small smile. The space was full of wires running vertically. "Mr. Reese? We've hit the motherlode." He turned and grinned down at Mr. Reese in triumph. There would be _something_ in there that he could use to contact the outside world. There had to be. But Reese didn't look up. He simply sat, his arms wrapped around his chest, splinted leg stretched out in front of him and tried to breathe. He really hoped Finch was right.

oO0Oo

A/N Thanks, Readers! You are awesome for stopping by.


	7. Chapter 7

#Ilovewhump

I have to confess I wasn't going to update this story this quickly, but the people who review have changed my mind. (you know who you are!)

oO0Oo

Later that day, both detectives were back at their desks. Fusco, looking into everything he could find on the three youths, and Carter flipping through mugshots.

He glanced up from his computer when she got up to retrieve a different file. "Got anything?"

She scowled. "Yup." She showed him the mugshot in her hand. "He _was_ questioned in connection with Elias. Whatever this is, it's got something to do with him." She looked up from her papers. "You find anything?"

Fusco sighed. "These three kids were just that. Stupid kids, looking to make some dough selling. They've each got a long rap sheet, but there's nothing that connects them to anybody. Just a couple'a gang-bangers. They're nobodies. And quite frankly, the world's better off without 'em."

Carter planted a hip on the corner of Fusco's desk. "Okay. So why would Elias want to stage this?"

"Elias wanted these kids dead so he has his boys kill them and make it look like a drug deal gone bad."

"It's not like him to kill kids." Carter countered.

"These weren't kids, Carter - I don't care how old they were." Fusco shook his head. "So they were - what? In the wrong place at the wrong time? Knew something or saw something they shouldn't have?"

Carter started nodding. "That fits with what we're seeing better than anything else." She got up and returned to her own desk, pursuing their current line of thought. "So then it's not _who_ they were, but _where_ they were." Typing, she began to pull up information about that part of town.

Fusco was nodding. "Mm hmm. Maybe Elias has something going down in that neighborhood and these kids saw something." When Carter remained silent, he looked up at her to see that she was staring off into space, deep in thought. "What?"

She blinked and looked at him, worry clear on her face. "What if we're right?" She pursed her lips, reluctant to say out loud what she was thinking. "What if Elias has something really big planned and doesn't want _any_ interruptions?"

Suddenly Lionel saw where she was going. He frowned as he sat straighter in his chair.

But she continued. "That man is a planner. Prides himself on preparing for anything and everything."

Fusco nodded. "He'd make sure nobody was going to interfere with his plan. Nobody."

Their eyes met. "Elias managed to get our mutual friends out of the way."

They were both quiet for a time considering. What would Elias have done? Lock them up somewhere? Could he have killed them?

"We need to find them."

"Yes we do, Lionel. We both owe them too much."

Both detectives thought for a moment about all the ways the pair had saved their lives and their careers - often at great risk to themselves. Plus the city was just a whole lot better off with them around.

Carter took a deep breath. "You look into every building and business, every food cart, every vendor in a five block radius."

Fusco nodded. "What are you gonna do?"

"What if it wasn't a place? It could be the road itself. What if there's some route Elias needs cleared? I'm gonna look into bus routes, delivery trucks, armoured car routes… anything I can think of."

They both got to work.

oO0Oo

It was late before either detective had any luck. Fusco had been out canvassing every place that would talk to him. He'd just returned, exhausted and discouraged.

Carter was still researching. Most businesses she wanted to talk to were closed for the day, but she was not above rousting workers out of their beds at home to question them. It took time though- first to find personal phone numbers and then to get someone to actually answer.

Again and again she wished for Finch's near-miraculous information gathering skills. The longing surprised her since she was pretty sure he did not get his facts legally.

Her dread was growing. It was entirely possible they were already dead. In which case it wouldn't matter how quickly they worked, nor how late into the night. But the pair had proved extremely hard to kill - even for Elias. She was tempted just to head out to Rikers and ask him face to face. But that too would have to wait for the morning.

She gratefully accepted the cup of awful coffee that Fusco set on her desk. She looked up at him questioningly as she sipped, but he only shook his head, walked over to his desk, and slumped dejectedly into his chair.

"You find anything?" He asked with a sigh, already knowing the answer.

She was just about to tell him her plan to go out to the prison in the morning and ask the man himself when she had a thought. "Wait a second..." She said and Fusco looked up curiously at the renewed energy in her voice.

She began to type furiously and Fusco could barely restrain his questions.

Finally she sat back and looked at him triumphantly. "The prison… _Prisoner_ transfer." She declared and her partner frowned at her.

"Our fake drug deal went down right along the usual route of the prison bus. When someone in Rikers needs to be taken to the courthouse, they take this route. And that particular spot has the fewest cameras and typically the least traffic of the entire route." She smiled for the first time all day. "Someone's getting an unscheduled bus stop."

Fusco straightened. "Any idea who?"

At that her enthusiasm faltered a bit. "There's four convicts currently scheduled for court dates tomorrow. None of whom have anything to do with Elias."

But her partner was not deterred. "Doesn't mean it's not him." He gave her a smirk of his own. "Guess I know where we'll be in the morning."

Carter stood, nodding to herself. "I just hope we're not too late for our friends - wherever they are."

"Those two?" Fusco asked with false enthusiasm. "They'll be fine. Probably beat us there in the morning and give us a hard time for worrying about 'em."

"I hope you're right." She responded. "Get some sleep, Fusco. Tomorrow's gonna be a busy day."

oO0Oo

Finch kept his hand on the wall and blinked as the room spun. Lightheadedness was already taking its toll. He shook his head and reached, once again, into the opening. He continued sorting through the wires, looking for something he could use.

He'd been at it for over an hour when he heard Mr. Reese's voice.

"Harold?" Reese requested, quietly gasping, "Harold?"

As quickly as he could manage, Finch came and knelt in front of him, wincing as the movement pulled at his back and neck. "What is it, Mr. Reese?"

It took Reese a moment to gather the strength to speak. "I have every confidence… that you're going to figure out a way… to make a call… and get… get us out of here... But if you can't… promise me you'll go with plan B."

Itching to get his fingers back onto those wires, Finch asked, "What is plan B?"

Reese tried to swallow, although his mouth was utterly dry. "Dehydration is setting in... If you're not already lightheaded… you will be soon... In this heat… things will move quickly…Other than the... obvious thirst... dizziness will be followed by confusion… delirium… then a… a loss of consciousness..." He looked up at Finch earnestly. "Promise me… Promise me you'll climb out of here... before it gets to that point."

Finch gazed at him, understanding that he'd just been given the 'leave me behind and save yourself' speech by a dying man - his dying friend - and he hated it. He pursed his lips, the muscles in his face twitched a bit with the effort it took not to protest - not to declare that he would never, _ever_ leave Mr. Reese to die alone... Finally he spoke. "If I am unable to... 'make a call' we will _both_ go."

Reese closed his eyes briefly and nodded. "Right. I'll race you." He whispered, and then looked at Finch. "Now go call the cavalry and get us out of here."

oOo

Having his fingers buried in electronics was a much more comfortable occupation for Finch than carrying heavy crates. When he'd first begun, he'd felt he was in his element. He'd been confident; excited, even. He'd been more than ready to get out of this predicament. He had even begun silently rehearsing the call he would make to the doctors at the clinic where he'd made arrangements just in case they would find themselves in need of emergency medicine.

Now, several hours later, Reese had once again lost consciousness and Finch was still digging and sorting wires. Stripping a few here and there; connecting them to others; testing possibilities. He'd built whole computers from scraps - it shouldn't be so difficult to send a message along a wire. But these particular wires were terribly antiquated. There was nothing that resembled data conduits- nothing other than simple power lines - half of which were dead.

If he didn't find something useful soon, he feared he would be able to do little more than disrupt the power to someone's microwave; hardly a cry for help.

Additionally, the fear that his mind was no longer clear enough to accomplish his task _plagued_ him. "Why doesn't it _work_?" He mumbled to himself. "It should work!"

"Fi- Finch." Came a breathless whisper. "Finch?"

Reese had regained consciousness. He moved as fast as his aching body would allow, and gingerly lowered himself to his knees beside his friend.

The injured man reached out and grabbed a handful of Finch's shirt. His usually impregnable defenses were beginning to crumble, confusion and even fear were near to escaping their bonds. "Finch?"

"What is it, Mr. Reese?"

"What's going on? Where are we?"

Finch's heart sank at the words.

"Why's it so hot?" Reese whispered, frowning. He understood that he should know. That was the worst part. He was _aware_ that he's losing it.

Finch took a page from his employee's book and used the calmest possible voice in the face of the worst of circumstances. "It's dehydration, John. I'm feeling it, too. We've been without water for approximately... Well, it must be days; two… maybe three... I don't know why it's so hot, but it is speeding the process."

Reese continued to frown, puzzling it out. "Wires? You found wires."

Finch sighed. "Yes, I did, for all the good it's doing. I doubt I can send a message. Although someone is probably wondering why their lights keep flashing on and off."

"SOS." Reese whispered.

"Yes, unfortunately I can't-"

Reese's hand released Finch's shirt to grasp his arm. "No... Literal..."

Finch's eyes widened. He'd been thinking at too complicated a level. "Of course!"

He stood then and made his way back to the wires. Arranging them for maximum impact, he began to send an actual SOS: three short, three long, three short. He had no way of knowing what he was turning on and off or if anyone saw it, but he was sending it.

Without the ability to measure time, and with his own cognitive abilities fading, it was hard to know for how long he stood there, connecting and interrupting wires in an unending pattern. It felt like days. It may have been minutes. Either way it seemed utterly pointless.

No one was coming. He had failed. He had failed John.

No longer able to see any point in continuing his current, apparently futile activity, he decided to check on Reese.

He forced his throbbing joints to fold and sat, leaning back against the wall beside Reese who appeared to be once again unconscious. He closed his own eyes, intending to rest for a moment.

Without opening his eyes, Reese whispered beside him. "I guess it didn't work."

"I'm sorry," was Finch's hopeless response.

"Not your fault."

"I should have been able to-"

"Finch... Plan B. Go."

"No, John…"

Struggling for breath, he somehow managed to respond. "Harold… I'm dying... Do this for me... Please."

"John..." There had to be a way to talk him out of this course of action. Something...

"Please."

Finch gazed helplessly at his friend, who now opened his eyes a bit and just looked at him.

Finch broke eye-contact and nodded, utterly defeated. "Alright." Slowly he turned away. Painfully he struggled once more to his feet. Haltingly he stumbled over to one last crate, put his hands on it, and raised it to the first level.

Agonizingly, he gradually worked it higher and higher, slowly nearing the top and possible freedom. He paused when he thought he heard John murmur his name. Turning, he looked back and heard what he believed would be the man's last words.

Using the last of his strength to tilt his head and look up at Finch, John whispered, " _It was an honor... serving with you_."

Understanding all that stood behind that single utterance born of the man's military days, Finch stared back for a moment, looking upon his friend one last time.

Finally he turned and settled the crate on the top level. Hoisting his aching body onto it, he was able to grasp the edge of the opening and pull himself through.

Unbeknownst to Finch, Reese watched him disappear. He smiled softly with satisfaction, closed his eyes, and stopped fighting the inevitable.

oO0Oo

A thousand thank-yous to everyone who reviewed this story! - Papaya


	8. Chapter 8

oO0Oo

In the morning, Carter and Fusco were at the site of the homicide early, well before the bus was scheduled to pass through. Carter had found a somewhat shady spot behind a parked car as the day was already beginning to heat up.

Fusco had been less fortunate in his choices. While he too, had found shade, it was provided by a dumpster that was emitting more and more foul odors as the temperature rose.

Thankfully he didn't have that long to wait. Soon the bus approached. It was over an hour ahead of schedule. When it reached the site of the 'drug deal,' a dark panel van pulled up fast, and stopped directly in the bus's path forcing it to slam on the brakes. Several masked gunmen exited the van and began to exchange fire with the prison guards. They would have succeeded in subduing the men, except Carter and Fusco threw their weight behind that of the guards. Not expecting fire from all directions, the gunmen became desperate. The gunfire increased until Elias himself stepped from the bus, his surprisingly un-shackled hands raised in a gesture of peace. His men stopped shooting. Thankfully, so did the guards.

"Detectives!" Elias called out. "A word, please?"

Elias's men held the guards at gun-point as Carter and Fusco emerged.

"What are you doing Elias?" Carter demanded striding up to him. "There's no way I'm gonna let you escape."

Elias surprised her by laughing good-naturedly. "Detective Carter. You continue to impress me. But please do not concern yourself with these events. I have no intention of escaping. The establishment that is Rikers is doing a fine job of meeting my needs for the moment."

Carter stared at him suspiciously, Fusco came up behind her his gun at the ready. "What _are_ you doing, then?"

He shrugged, "I simply have an important meeting that had to take place face to face. I couldn't allow anything to get in the way."

At that Carter's eyes narrowed. "What did you do to our mutual friends?" She demanded. "Did you kill them?"

Elias had the nerve to look affronted. "Kill John?! I would sooner destroy a stained glass window than an artist like that. No, no, detective. I have not killed them… just set them to the side for a bit. I'm sure you'll hear from them soon."

Carter stepped forward and put her gun to Elias's throat. His man got ready to shoot her, but Elias waved him off.

"The good detective is not going to kill me. She just wants to find her friends."

"And lock you back up where you belong."

Elias smiled again. "Detective, let us be civilized. I already told you I have no intention of escaping. I only desire to conduct my meeting and I will be back on this bus in a few hours."

"Where are they?" She demanded.

"Alright." Elias frowned at her, losing patience. "If I tell you where they are, _and_ give you my word that I will be back at Rikers by sundown, _will you_ allow me to continue on my way?"

Carter stared into his eyes. Could she? She had no idea what this 'meeting' was about. What if it was murder? How could she live with herself if it was? While she actually did believe that Elias would keep his word and return to Rikers, whatever happened _between_ now and then would be on her head.

As if reading her mind, Elias murmured, "I am only going to _talk_ at this meeting, Detective. I promise not to kill anyone unless they try something first."

She continued to glare, but the pressure she was putting on the weapon at his throat eased just a bit.

He backed away from her and waved at his men. "Continue with your duties."

A black cadillac pulled up then. Elias smiled at her once more as he got in. "The Bronx." He told her. "Pelham Bay Park."

Carter continued to point her gun at him. "I need more than that."

"Do not underestimate yourself, Detective, I don't. You need no more. In fact, if I _gave_ you more, it would be too easy and then you - _and_ our mutual friends would be back in time to stop me. I cannot allow that." He closed the car door and rolled down the window. "Have a nice day, Detective." And he was gone.

Carter stared after him. Wondering how she had fallen this far. A good cop would have had him in cuffs. What had she become since she had begun working with John and Finch?

"Hey Carter." Fusco caught her attention and directed it back towards the bus. Elias's men had put the guards in the back of the bus with the prisoners and exchanged uniforms with them. But they seemed to be protecting the guards from the prisoners. One of Elias's men got behind the wheel and threw the detectives a jaunty salute as he drove away. "You suppose they're really gonna take those guys for their court appearances?"

Carter grimaced in disgust. "Yep. _And_ keep those guards under lock and key until whatever this is is over and Elias is back 'home' safe." She holstered her weapon. "It's the only way to make sure Elias can have his _'meeting'_ uninterrupted." She looked at her partner. "Pelham Bay Park. Let's go."

oO0Oo

Lying on the floor of what appeared to be a large conduit or shaft of some sort, Finch tried to catch his breath. After a moment or two, he struggled to raise himself to his hands and knees- standing was not an option in the cramped space.

There were two choices of direction. To his right was darkness. No light or air came from that way. But to his left was a slight glow and a meager breath of air that while not quite fresh - was at least moving.

Finch began to crawl painfully in that direction.

The light continued to grow and soon he rounded a bend and saw the source. It was a subway tunnel. He crawled a little faster. If he could get out and into a station he could still get help to Mr. Reese in time to save his life.

He reached the grate at the end of the shaft and grasped it, trying to pry it open. When it did not budge he began to search for some kind of latch.

Soon he had explored every inch of the thick metal bars. They were welded tightly to each other at each intersection and every end was sunk into the surrounding concrete. There was no way to open it.

He paused, absently watching the rats in the tunnel, and tried to force his hazy mind to _think_.

As he did, a train shot past, mere inches away, at a high rate of speed, throwing sparks and fumes into the space around him. He shrank back.

A train moving at that velocity confirmed his worst fear: There were no near-by stations where some passenger or, better yet, transit employee might hear a cry for help.

He shouted anyways.

There was no response. He was alone.

Another train raced past forcing him to back away from the grate once again.

He stared hopelessly at the cruel barrier.

He tried to _think_.

He couldn't remember, at the moment, how he'd even arrived in this predicament.

Then: _Mr. Reese._

Where was John?

He had a vague feeling that something had gone horribly wrong and John was in trouble. But what was it? He reached for his phone. He didn't find it but when he stuck his hand into his pocket, his fingers hurt. He pulled them out and looked at them. He recognized those injuries. Those little cuts were what happened when you worked with raw wires for too much time and with too little care...

Suddenly the memories of their imprisonment all flooded back and he could not understand why he had left a dying man alone.

He turned and retraced his path.

Reaching the opening once again he looked to where Mr. Reese lay slumped against the wall. He painfully slid a leg over the edge and began to descend. He slipped more than once in his compromised condition, crying out in pain every time, but finally he managed to reach the bottom.

He dragged himself over to John and fell back against the wall beside him. He was utterly exhausted and wracked with pain from injuries old and new.

John gasped slightly as he was dragged back to near-cognizance by Finch's movement and he whispered, "Jess'ca?"

Finch looked at him, his own pain forgotten. He did not know what to say.

"Har'ld?" John whispered, "Where's Jessica?"

Finch fought with his emotions but eventually he answered the only way he could. "She's waiting for you, John. It's alright. You'll see her soon."

"S'good…" came the breathy sigh. "Miss her."

Finch had no response to that. He closed his eyes and tried to find a slightly less painful position. All he had to do now was fall asleep. It would be a relatively painless end. As his own eyes slid closed he murmured, "It was an honor working with you too, John."

oO0Oo

oO0Oo

Carter had no qualms about using the siren as they sped towards the Bronx. Even with Elias's assurance that Finch and John were fine, she could not dismiss her feeling of dread. Fusco's silence beside her told her he was just as worried.

"If they were okay - they'd've escaped by now." Fusco observed. "No cage is going to keep Wonderboy for long."

"Mm Hmm" Carter agreed. From the evidence she'd seen at the vault, she was certain that the subway system was involved so she pulled up next to the Pelham Bay Park subway station and parked. "They're in trouble. We gotta find 'em."

They entered the station and spoke to the transit cop on duty. He hadn't heard anything or seen anyone that matched their descriptions, but the older man did have some interesting information. "This may not mean anything to you, but some of the lights have been acting up."

"What?" Fusco asked. "Like how?"

He scowled. "Earlier today - the lights were flashing on and off down here. And if I didn't know better - I'd say it was an SOS."

"Wait - what do you mean SOS?" Carter pursued.

The man shrugged. "It's probably just some stupid punks got into the junction box, but it was flashing in a pattern - I messed around with Morse when I was a kid - and it was definitely an SOS. No kid now would know that, though. Musta been a coincidence."

The two detectives exchanged glances. "Where's this junction box?" Carter demanded.

"Next stop over. You can wait for the next train, but it's probably quicker to walk it."

Carter was already halfway up the stairs. Fusco thanked the officer and followed.

Once back out into the heat of the day Carter didn't slow down. She was headed towards the next station at a near run. But she slowed because she heard barking. _Familiar_ barking. She turned and was shocked to see Bear running up to her. She stopped and knelt down. "Bear! Where'd you come from?" The dog was very excited. Jumping and barking, he would run a little bit away from her and then return.

Fusco stared, dumbfounded. "Lassie? Really? Okay, I guess Timmy really did fall down a well..."

Carter just looked at him. "Let's go." She said helplessly. They both knew the SOS was an _actual_ SOS and not just some kids messing around.

The two detectives followed Bear down into the subway station and then down onto the tracks. It scared Carter because she was pretty sure Bear did not understand the danger of the third rail, but they were only on the tracks for a short way and then they were following the excited dog into a maintenance tunnel.

He would run ahead, then pause and either look back or run back to make sure they were following. Carter shook her head at the absurdness of it, but followed on. She supposed she shouldn't really be surprised - the dog was extremely well trained after all...

Finally they turned into a tunnel that Carter actually recognized from her earlier explorations. "We gotta be close, Fusco." She called back to the panting detective behind her. "That tunnel leads to the vault where they were caught." She pointed to another shaft that branched off to the right.

Finally Bear stopped in front of a large door painted with yellow and black stripes. A red and white sign declared 'this line to be completed in the future.'

The two detectives shared a glance and then approached the excited dog that was jumping, scratching and barking at the door. There was a heavy chain holding the door tightly closed, but it was secured with a normal padlock. Fusco looked at Carter and pulled his weapon.

"C'mere, Bear." Carter called the dog out of the line of fire. "Come here." Bear immediately came to her and sat looking up at her expectantly.

Then Fusco shot the lock off, and Bear was back in motion. He had his hands full getting the chain off with the dog in the way.

As soon as he'd pulled the door wide enough, Bear was through, the two detectives following behind.

It took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the gloom, but Bear had no such trouble. He went directly to his master and began licking first his face and then Finch's.

When Carter reached them she froze. Both men were, so far, unresponsive - even to Bear's enthusiasm. Finch looked to be in rough shape, but John? John looked dead. She'd seen enough bodies in her time to know. "Call an ambulance." She instructed Fusco.

She dropped to her knees beside John just as Bear succeeded in getting Finch to stir. "Bear…" he whispered weakly. "Ga… Gaan Liggen... Bear."

Instantly the dog lay down, but he laid his muzzle on John's leg, positively shivering in his excitement.

"Finch!" Carter spoke. "Can you hear me?" At the same time she put fingers to John's throat, daring to hope that they weren't too late.

"John's bleeding internally…" Finch murmured so quietly, Carter had to lean over to hear. "Dehydrated…"

"Fusco! Make sure the EMTs can find us!" She shouted and repositioned her fingers because she couldn't feel anything. "C'mon, John-" she whispered to him urgently. "Don't do this… Come on!" She forced herself to relax. She was as bad as Bear. Closing her eyes, she took a calming breath and repositioned her fingers once more.

Finch looked over at them, his expression bleak and fearful.

Then Carter smiled, closed her eyes in relief and sighed. "Got a pulse! He's alive, Finch. He's hanging in there."

Finch did not respond, but he took a slightly deeper breath and closed his eyes once more.

oO0Oo


	9. Chapter 9

A/N I do apologize for being late with this last chapter. We were out of town for a few days and I meant to post it before we left, but there were just too many last minute things to do. I would like to thank SWWoman, Wuchel, impvme, FynnMitsuki, bcmom, and everyone else who reviewed, followed, favorited or left 'kudos' on this story. This story wouldn't be here without YOU!

A/N I've said this before, but while I absolutely LOVE epilogues, I am terrible at writing them. thanks for bearing with me. I really don't mean to end stories abruptly, sometimes it just

oO0Oo

The EMTs worked quickly and efficiently and soon both men were above ground and the sirens tracked their hurried trip towards the nearest hospital.

It would be hours yet before the two detectives could follow. First they had to secure the scene. Then they felt compelled to ensure that Elias had kept his end of the bargain.

All they were able to discover was that all four of the criminals on the bus had indeed kept their court dates. They could also confirm that Elias was back behind bars.

What had happened in between - they would never know.

Finally, Carter had a moment to call and find out to which hospital their friends had been taken. She hadn't been able to shake the fear that John hadn't made it. Nor would she until she had laid eyes on him.

Fusco spotted her talking on the phone and offered to finish up the paperwork so she could make her way to the hospital. She gratefully accepted with only the briefest moment of guilt. She'd return the favor eventually. She promised to keep him updated on what she found and left.

Once at the hospital she had another mystery to solve since there was no record of John or Finch - or anyone admitted with conditions even remotely similar. Carter was tired and frustrated and worried. But then she noticed that the hospital happened to be renovating one of its upper floors. On a hunch, she headed there next.

That was that she found Finch. He was sitting alone in a hard wooden chair in an unfinished hallway across from a closed door. One arm was in a sling, and an IV bag hung from a pole next to him. He stared at the floor in front of him and did not move until she was standing next to him, "Finch?"

He started and glanced up at her. When she saw his rather shell-shocked gaze, Carter sat down next to him, fear once again filling her chest. "How's John doing?" She asked with trepidation.

He looked at the door across from where they sat for a moment and then told her, "He's going to be alright."

Carter took her first deep breath in hours.

Finch continued. "The doctor just left. They've treated his dehydration and he was in surgery for quite some time to repair his internal injuries. They've only just settled him in his room… It's the only one on the floor completed enough to support a patient."

"Yeah - how did you manage that, anyway?"

Finch smiled slightly. "I offered to pay for the wing."

"Ah." She smiled. Then she too looked at the closed door. "Why are you out here instead of in there?"

Then Finch became uncomfortable. "Something the doctor said." He murmured.

Carter frowned, intrigued. "Finch?" She prompted.

Finch glanced sideways at her for a moment before he spoke. "The doctor is my personal physician. He's very good. I told him all that had occurred so that he could provide John with the best possible care. He also treated my own - minor injuries." Then Finch fell silent.

Carter waited patiently for him to fill the silence.

Finally he spoke. "When he compared our injuries with the story I told him, he was able to deduce _how_ John's ribs were broken…" He swallowed and continued in a whisper. "I caused them."

Carter frowned doubtfully.

"John told me he'd grabbed my arm and pulled… I didn't realize that meant he used himself to break my fall…"

Understanding dawned, and Carter was not surprised at Finch's reaction. She'd be upset too if John sacrificed himself to save her - upset, but not surprised.

"The doctor said that a fall like that… if it didn't kill me, would have severely compromised my… disability - perhaps permanently… John understood that. And prevented it."

"And you're surprised?" Carter asked drily.

"The act very nearly killed him."

Carter took a moment to gather her thoughts. She realized that there were certain things that she understood about John a little better than his employer so she endeavored to explain. "The night I met John - that was your lawyer that got him off the hook for beating up those punks on the subway, wasn't it?"

Finch nodded, a little puzzled by the question.

"I figured it was you… You saw the footage of what happened on the train?"

Finch nodded.

"And you know John's story? - The events in his life that had brought him to that place?"

Finch nodded again.

"I don't... But at the same time… In a way... I do." She tilted her head and regarded Finch. "You know I was an interrogator."

"A very good one…" Finch commented.

"Well, I did get pretty good at reading people. And I recognized John when I saw him that night. Not by name... but I'd seen too many people in his situation not to recognize it…" She took a deep breath. "Men like John are rare. The things they can do - they can be a powerful force for good - or for evil. The worst is when a good man is led into a world of evil. It does something to them. Takes away a part of them. Not everything… just the part that matters." She pursed her lips. She wouldn't meet Finch's gaze. "When I saw that video footage and looked into John's eyes that night, that's what I saw." She was quiet for a moment, thinking of how horrible things were for John at that moment in his life. "I was afraid. I was afraid for _him_. You put that together with the train he was on - and the time…?"

Finch frowned at her.

" _That_ train… at _that_ hour of the night… there's only a few places he could've been going in his state of mind." She paused. "I'm pretty certain that if his trip hadn't been interrupted, John wouldn't have seen another morning."

Finch's eyes narrowed in sadness at that and he looked away. He'd known Mr. Reese had been near suicidal at times. He hadn't realized just how close he'd come.

"Finch - you need to understand that you gave him back a part of what he'd lost. You saved his life in a very profound way… You can't be surprised if he returns the favor once in a while."

When Finch looked like he was about to protest, Carter continued. "Plus I'm pretty sure _you've_ saved _his_ life a time or two since then-"

"But not at the risk of my own." Finch protested.

At that Carter raised her eyebrows. "I'm also pretty sure John would disagree with you on that. Given what I've learned about the way you two operate… _You_ may be risking more than anyone."

The weight of responsibility Finch had been feeling was becoming slightly more manageable as they talked, and a thought occurred to him. "I believe _John_ would credit _you_ with changing his path that night."

She smiled in acknowledgement but pointed out. " _I_ didn't give him a job."

Finch returned her smile and Carter was glad to see it.

After a moment's consideration he spoke. "Shall we go in and see him?" But before she could respond, Finch's smile fell as he saw something over her shoulder.

Carter turned to see Elias's right hand man approaching.

She immediately stood and pointed her sidearm at him. "What do you think you are doing here?" She demanded.

"You can relax, Detective." The man raised his hands to show he held no weapon. Then he raised the hem of his coat and slowly turned a 180 in the universal gesture of 'I'm unarmed.'

Carter relaxed, but only slightly.

The man spoke quietly. "Elias sends his _sincere_ regrets. This-" He gestured at the hospital surroundings. "Was never his intention. He simply wanted to keep you out of the way for a time. Some of his men took things further than he intended. Be assured, they have been dealt with."

The last sentence was spoken so ominously that Finch cringed.

Then Scarface turned specifically to Carter, "There is no threat to Davida."

Carter didn't justify his statement with a response. Instead she asked, "What do you want?"

The man backed up a step. "As I said - to apologize. And to say that if you need anything-"

"Everything is taken care of, I can assure you. We have no need of 'help' from Elias." Finch interrupted drily.

The man nodded in satisfaction that his message had been delivered. It didn't not need to be welcomed. He nodded again, turned and walked away, speaking over his shoulder. "Our best wishes for a speedy recovery." And he was gone.

Carter holstered her weapon and turned to Finch. "Why don't you go in? I'll make sure our 'friend' has left the building."

Finch stood and grasped his IV pole, although the bag of fluids dripping into his vein was nearly empty. "Thank-you, Detective." He moved towards the door, then paused and turned to her. "And thank-you… for finding us."

She nodded at him, waited until the door closed behind him and then went after Elias's messenger.

oO0Oo

Finch sipped his tea. Detective Carter had returned shortly after he had begun his vigil at John's bedside. She'd sat with him for a while until a call from her partner had pulled her away. She'd departed with a promise to return later with food.

John slept. The steady beep of the heart monitor and the gentle hiss of oxygen reassured Finch that he would recover.

A nurse had stopped by to check on John and remove Finch's IV. She was able to reassure him even further. "He's responding well to his treatment. The effects of his dehydration are greatly diminished and he'll only need time and rest to recover from his other injuries. He'll be back on his feet in no time." And she'd smiled and left, not hearing Finch's murmured, 'You have no idea…'

After that, Finch was lost in his own thoughts for a while until a hoarse whisper pulled his attention to the figure in the bed.

"You okay, Finch?"

Finch smiled slightly. He was glad to see John awake, and was trying not to be surprised that the man's first thought was for his health. "Yes, Mr. Reese, I am fine. More importantly, how are _you_ feeling?"

Reese sighed shallowly and looked at the ceiling. "Like somebody sat on my chest."

Finch's eyes widened at his words, and he -stared, only to see a ghost of a smile on John's lips. "Mr. Reese! How can you joke about it?" He demanded incredulously.

"Why not?" Reese whispered.

"You nearly died!" Finch protested.

"Yeah - but we didn't." He reached for the cup of water beside his bed and Finch moved quickly to fill the cup and hand it to him, watching to see if he would need help drinking.

"I'm fine, Finch." Reese pointed out as he drank from the cup. "Just a little sore."

Finch returned to his seat shaking his head. Reese was quite a bit worse off than, 'just a little sore.'

"You don't have to mother-hen me." Reese commented, replacing the cup on the bedside table. "I'll be up and around in a few days… back to working the numbers." A thought occurred to him. "Were we right? Was it Elias that locked us up?"

"Yes," Finch responded. "Apparently he had a meeting he did not want us to interrupt. Our detective friends and, apparently, _Bear_ managed to locate and rescue us."

Reese nodded, processing the information. "I'm guessing things didn't turn out exactly as Elias expected?"

"Yes - he actually had the nerve to send one of his men to apologize. He himself is back behind bars"

Reese nodded to himself and rested his head back on the pillow. He would deal with Elias later- when he wasn't quite so 'sore.'

"Mr. Reese, I do have one question, if you feel up to it."

Reese raised an eyebrow a tiny bit.

"How did Bear find us? How did he get out of the library?"

There was a hint of a smirk. "That's two, Finch."

Finch raised his own eyebrows - for a man who had just beaten death, Reese was certainly in a good mood. But then again, perhaps beating death was enough to raise one's spirits.

"Second chances, Finch. There's always a possibility that neither of us makes it back to the library. There's no way I would lock Bear up without knowing he could get out if he had to. He has his own… emergency exit. Don't worry - it's secure. As for how he found us?" Reese shook his head. "I have no idea. He's a smart dog. Maybe he accessed your computers."

Reese's mood was contagious and Finch felt his own heart lighten. "I suppose there are numerous stories of dogs finding their home or their owner against incredible odds..."

John nodded and continued softly in a different direction, "And Finch? Do you think we could turn up the air conditioning in the library - just for a while?"

At that Finch smiled. "Agreed, Mr. Reese. Agreed."

At that moment, Carter returned with a bag of take out. Seeing John was awake but barely keeping his eyes open, she smiled. "Hey, sleepyhead. How're you doing?"

John replied, "Better than expected, thanks to you."

Carter huffed a breath and was about to protest when Finch stood, holding the bag of food she had handed to him.

"I thank-you for the meal, Detective." He said sincerely. "If you will be staying for a bit, I would go make certain Bear is properly rewarded for his actions... and retrieve some reading materials."

John's eyebrow quirked slightly at Finch's obvious intention to 'baby-sit' him for the duration. He would've sighed, but taking deep breaths was still quite painful, so he resisted the urge.

Carter saw his reaction as Finch left and smirked. "He takes good care of you, John. You should be grateful." She teased. "You _need_ someone looking after you."

"Mm." Was the only response. "He worries."

Her smirk softened and she came to sit on the side of the bed. "With good reason, I'd say." His slow blink told her he wouldn't be awake much longer, so she continued. "Speaking of people who look out for you, you should know that I never would have figured out what happened to you two without the help of a woman named Joan." She watched carefully and saw a tiny reaction to the name in his eyes. "She said she looked after you for a time..." She paused to let him elaborate on that story, but unsurprisingly, his eyes just slid away to look into the past.

She smiled softly and let it go. Maybe someday he would share that story with her, but not today. She could see he was slowly fading and she figured he probably wouldn't remember much of this conversation when he woke up anyways. "I'm glad you're okay." She told him sincerely.

He smiled slightly and dragged his eyelids upwards once more. "Because of you." He murmured, the drugs in his system tugging at him. "Thank-you, Joss." And he gave in to the sleep his body needed.

"Any time, John." She said and lightly rested her hand on his. "Any time."

oO0Oo

END!  
oO0Oo

A/N - I hope that wasn't too abrupt. Please leave a note and let me know what you thought, now that it's over. Thanks! Papaya

(A/N - and yes, for those of you who still want to know, "Solitudes" - Stargate SG-1 - s1 e17 is probably my favorite story of all time, and served as inspiration for this one. Virtual cookies to everyone who recognized it. :-D)


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